Where Everything Is More So

(See Cover)

Texans are 49% in earnest when they talk about their state as an independent country, allied with the U.S. And it is true that Texas is different from its sister states; but the difference is one of degree. Texas is the U.S.--only more so.

This week Texas is in the throes of a rebellion against the national Democratic Party. Leader of the rebellion is Texas Governor Allan Shivers, a man who alternates between boldness and caution, who often talks in sweeping absolutes and temperamentally prefers compromise. At present, Shivers seems to be in one of his bold moods. For size, for noise, for drama, his upheaval seems peculiarly Texan.

Underneath, the issues are essentially the same as those in the rest of the U.S. Shivers and his rebels are up in arms against the overconcentration of power in Washington and against the abuse of that power. This rebellion is probably stronger in Texas than in any other large state. But Texas also has strong ties with the Democratic Party, and a deep distrust of the Republican Party. The rebellion against the New Deal may not carry Texas, as it may not carry the rest of the U.S.--but the fight in Texas is hotter than in the nation generally because Texas magnifies everything.

The Battleground. Many of the truths about Texas sound more like lies than some of the lies about Texas. It is first among the states in the production of oil, gas, mohair, wool, cattle and Angora goats. It has 132,000 oil wells, three highly regarded city symphony orchestras and a housewife who recently ordered a bracelet bangle designed to look like a kitchen sink with diamonds dripping from the faucet. It has the Cullen Foundation, which has set aside $160 million worth of oil properties to endow medical, educational and charitable institutions. One Texan has a million-dollar-a-week income, and so many others have so much less that the per-capita income of Texans is slightly less than the national average. The rags-to-riches story is so standard that one Texan, who inherited a fortune from his grandmother in Boston, tries to make his neighbors believe he won it in a crap game.

Perceptive Europeans have long noted with bewilderment the apparent contradiction between the American tendency toward economic change and American political conservatism. Both are found to the nth degree in Texas. When the Republic National Bank decided to build in Dallas the tallest skyscraper in Texas, it tore down a six-story building only three years old to make room. The geography books once described east Texas as a land of cotton, west Texas as beef country. Today the books are out of date. Cotton was wearing out east Texas land. Today it is prime cattle-grazing country and west Texas is cotton country. East & west, oil derricks prick the Texas sky and a 50-year-old boom goes on & on.

Clearly, Texas was not ripe in the '30s (and is not now) for talk of the "mature economy," the "vanished frontier" and "stabilization." Such words, part of the early New Deal gospel, went underground with Truman's Fair Deal, but the Texas rebels think that the idea behind them persists in Washington today. Texans, like other Americans, cotton to the word "security." But Texans, even more than other Americans, cotton to the word "opportunity." When the Federal Government promises security by seeming to mortgage opportunity, many Texans don't cotton to that at all. Texas, one of the fastest changing regions of the world's fastest changing nation, is nevertheless deeply conservative in political outlook. It has the American willingness to shift the furniture around, but it suspected the New Deal of trying to change the family habits. Texans, says Allan Shivers, "feel strongly about many things--civil rights, FEPC, that mess in Washington, taxes and spending." The thing that has roused Texas' strongest feeling is a matter of principle: tidelands oil.

Three Leagues Seaward. The tidelands will never replace the Alamo in the hearts of Texans, but there are times when certain Texan political leaders sound as if the two symbols stand for the same thing--and in a way, perhaps they do.

When in 1845 the Republic of Texas consented to become part of the U.S., the treaty of annexation defined the domain of Texas as extending three leagues (10.3 land miles) into the Gulf of Mexico. Later, the Texas legislature extended its claim to the edge of the continental shelf, an average of 70 miles into the Gulf. When the federal-state battle over the tidelands got hot, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the Federal Government had "paramount rights in, and full dominion and power" over this underwater land. But the court left the way open for Congress to assign title to the states. Twice Congress passed bills giving the states title. Twice Harry Truman vetoed these bills. There the matter stands.

California and Louisiana tidelands contain rich, proven oil deposits. In the case of Texas, there is little evidence that the lands are "oil rich." Exploratory drilling has produced little oil. Now, oil firms have stopped exploration because of the dim prospects and the disputed title.

Yet Texas feels far more strongly about the tidelands issue than does California or Louisiana. It's not the money involved: it's the principle. Says Governor Shivers: "The attempt of the Federal Government to take over the tidelands of Texas represents just another move of a centralized governmental authority which has for years gradually taken over the rights of individual citizens of the states . . . establishing degree by degree a definite approach to state socialism . . . and then, as in this action, taking over the property of the state itself."

Following Roosevelt and Truman, Adlai Stevenson favors federal ownership of tidelands. The Republican platform and Eisenhower are against federal ownership of tidelands. That difference has brought thousands of Texans to the point of a reluctant break with the Democratic Party. Leader of the break--though he is one of the most reluctant--is Allan Shivers.

A Good Marriage. Shivers (rhymes with rivers) was born Oct. 5, 1907 at Lufkin, where his father, Robert A. Shivers, was clerking in a store. Later, the elder Shivers practiced law at Woodville, then became a district judge at Port Arthur. Young Allan, a studious boy, hung around the courthouse so much that he acquired a nickname: "Judge."

Allan went off to study law at the University of Texas, but dropped out at the end of the first year because the family purse was nearly empty. After working as a laborer and clerk for an oil company for 2 1/2 years, he finally got back to the university. Then, during vacations, he worked as a subscription salesman for TIME. After law school, he went into his father's law office in Port Arthur. Practice was meager, but at the end of his first year he settled a case with a big fee: $800. With that, Shivers launched himself in politics.

He was the youngest (26) man elected to the Texas senate up to that time. He soon won recognition as a studious, hardworking legislator. In the 1936 special session, he helped draft old-age-assistance legislation and was considered "almost a New Dealer."

In 1937, Allan Shivers became a millionaire--by marriage. At a yachting party at Port Arthur in 1935, the young state senator had met pretty Marialice Shary, adopted daughter and only child of John Shary, pioneer real-estate promoter in the lower Rio Grande Valley. They were married on his 30th birthday. When John Shary died in 1945, Shivers became general manager of the mammoth John H. Shary Enterprises, which include vast citrus fruit groves, nurseries and canneries, farms, ranches, real estate, irrigation and oil-development companies, and a weekly newspaper (the Mission, Texas Times).

Cadillacs & a Ford. The Shivers family (four children: John Shary, 12; Allan Jr., 6; Marialice Sue, 4; and Brian McGee, 6 weeks) lives most of the time at the governor's mansion in Austin, built in 1853 and now partially air-conditioned. They spend some of their time at Sharyland, the hotel-like headquarters of the Shary enterprises at Mission, and some at the Shivers farm near Woodville. Although Shivers owns two Cadillac limousines, he has been driving--in this election year--a red Ford sedan (with a Mercury engine and an air-conditioning system).

Shivers makes certain concessions (such as the Mercury in Ford clothing) to what his constituents expect of a Texas governor, but he is not the type known to the rest of the country as the professional Texan. His hats are apt to be more nearly five-gallon than ten, his drawl is under control, and his public manner is more earnest than hearty. He can even kid the Texas myth a little. In a recent radio interview with Bob Crosby, he said: "I'd like to say something serious now, something I want all the world to know and remember and something it gives me great pride to tell you . . . I'm from Texas." Even without the ten-gallon hats and other Texas props, he looks a little like Gary Cooper made up for a Latin audience. But Shivers, despite his good looks, is debarred from a movie or TV career by the bluest beard in public life. In a recent campaign, his enemies spread a rumor that Shivers wears a toupee. Mrs. Shivers disposed of that with a bright remark: "If he does, he'd better get a new one, because this one is getting motheaten on top."

Shivers became governor without meaning to. After World War II (he was a military government major with the Third Army in Italy and France), he almost decided to quit politics and devote his full time to the Shary interests. But his colleagues persuaded him to run for lieutenant governor. On July 11, 1949, Governor Beauford Jester died and Allan Shivers became the 36th governor of Texas.

Throughout his career, Shivers' actions have fallen into two patterns: he has been forceful and aggressive when his position seemed secure, but has turned supercautious when his security seemed to be threatened. His forceful side was in evidence just after he became governor. Concerned about the impoverished condition of state hospitals, he called a special session of the legislature to appropriate additional funds. Older politicians advised him that it would be political folly to demand more money so early in his regime, but Shivers ignored them and even dared to use some uncomplimentary language about Texas. In his message to the session, he said: "Texas, the proud Lone Star State--first in oil, 48th in mental hospitals; first in cotton, worst in tuberculosis; first in raising goats, last in caring for its state wards." The legislature came through with the funds he wanted.

Men with an Aim. After he was elected to a full term in 1950, Shivers spoke out more & more against the Truman Administration, particularly on the tidelands issue. This caught the ears of Texas' powerful conservative Democrats, mostly wealthy oilmen and ranchers, who already considered Shivers one of themselves. Last December, a group of them sent an Austin lawyer, Clint Small, to tell the governor that they would support him for re-election or for Tom Connally's seat in the U.S. Senate. They wanted a political leader who would keep Texas safely on the conservative side in 1952. Shivers, however, was not certain that Connally would step down. He decided to run for re-election as governor, and to let his attorney general, Price Daniel, run for Connally's seat. (Daniel, 41, an intense, humorless lawyer from Liberty, Texas, a former speaker of the state house of representatives, now is certain to succeed Connally.)

Shivers' first task, ahead of his own reelection, was to take a conservative delegation to the Democratic National Convention. Stepping up his speaking schedule, Shivers used Harry Truman as his main target and asked Texans to give him "an uninstructed, unpledged and undaunted" delegation to the Democratic convention. At the Democratic state convention in San Antonio, Shivers got his kind of delegation. But he also got some trouble. A group of "loyal" Democrats, led by scowling ex-Congressman Maury Maverick, bolted and named their own delegates to the national convention.

On the Defensive. In Chicago, Shivers' cautious side came out. He could not forget that, back home, Ralph Yarborough, an independent Democratic lawyer from Austin, was putting on a vigorous campaign for the Democratic nomination for governor. The primary was to be held the Saturday after the convention. Shivers, uneasy about Yarborough, was afraid his delegation might be thrown out of the Chicago convention. As a result, in Chicago he took a defensive rather than an aggressive stand.

He managed to get the "loyalty pledge" watered down so that it did not call for support of the nominees, but simply pledged the delegates to try to get the nominees on their state's ballot. This pledge Shivers accepted "without reservation." He got his Democratic delegation seated. He won his primary, 672,000 to 395,000, a big enough margin to indicate that he had been unnecessarily worried. With another term secure, he again became aggressive. He flew to Springfield, Ill. and demanded that Adlai Stevenson take a clear position on tidelands.

After a 4 1/2-hour talk with the presidential nominee, Shivers came out smiling. He was going to visit around town for a while, might eyen take a look at Abraham Lincoln's tomb, while Stevenson made up his mind about tidelands. After visiting the office of a Texas insurance man (he never got to the tomb), Shivers returned to get Stevenson's final word.

The governor of Illinois handed the governor of Texas a statement. It was generally in favor of federal ownership of tidelands. When Shivers bluntly said he thought the statement was full of generalities, Stevenson added: "I agree, therefore, with the presidential veto of the bill ... to restore title ... to ... Texas." An unsmiling Shivers stalked out of the executive mansion and hurried off to the airport. As he went, he said darkly: "This is going to be rough in Texas."

A Compromise. Shivers took the dread word back to Texas and solemnly pronounced Stevenson anathema. A rebel gleam began to shine in the eyes of Texas. But under the loyalty pledge Shivers had accepted, he was committed to do his best to get Stevenson and Sparkman on the Texas ballot. Attorney General Daniel proposed a plan which many other Democratic leaders endorsed: list Stevenson and Sparkman as the "Federal Democratic" candidates, Eisenhower and Nixon as the "Texas Democratic" candidates. That would ease the minds of born & bred Democrats who couldn't bear to step across the party line.

Some shrewd lawyers told Allan Shivers that under Texas law this would be an illegal use of the Democratic label. (The judgment of his legal advisers was confirmed when a district court last week threw out an attempt to get a "Texas Democratic" ticket on the ballot.) Shivers stayed up until 4 a.m. writing his speech to the year's second Democratic state convention, urging it to take the course it eventually took: put Stevenson and Sparkman on the ballot, but work against them.

Since the convention, Shivers has been suspended in a strange political vacuum. He is against Stevenson and Sparkman, yet he hasn't said he will vote for the Republican nominees. But he is expected to follow the pattern set by Jimmy Byrnes and Louisiana's Governor Robert F. Kennon, and announce that he will vote for Eisenhower.

The "Democrats for Eisenhower" movement last week began to blow like a Texas norther. Gusts:

P: Lawyer Tom Sealy called together 60 stalwarts of the Shivers campaign organization in Austin to set up the statewide campaign.

P: Houston Oil Millionaire Wright Morrow made his move. He resigned as Democratic National Committeeman, and commented that he had "the advice of the state Democratic convention to support Eisenhower."

P: Texas Republicans went through a strange maneuver of their own. They endorsed the Democratic ticket for Senator, governor and all other state offices, hoping thereby to woo Democrats to Eisenhower and Nixon. The Republicans have high hopes for Ike's flying sweep across the state after a big 62nd birthday party in San Antonio on Oct. 14.

P: Cooperation between Republicans for Ike and Democrats for Ike is close. The harmony is facilitated by the fact that Democratic State Chairman Wallace Savage and Republican State Chairman Alvin Lane are law partners in Dallas.

Counter-gusts:

P: Last week the Democratic National Committee, facing up to the danger, named House Speaker Sam Rayburn to lead the Texas campaign for Stevenson and Sparkman.

P: Senator Lyndon Johnson, who as chairman of the Senate preparedness subcommittee, has constantly criticized the Administration's mobilization policies, was less enthusiastic than Sam. But he said he would vote Democratic.

P: Old Tom Connally, vacationing in Europe, is expected to stay in line too.

P: Representative Wright Patman, going all out for Stevenson and Sparkman, was making plans to stump the state.

P: Adlai Stevenson is planning to make at least two speeches in Texas, probably right after Ike's trip, although the state Democratic organization would not turn a hand for him.

This week the Texas Poll reported that Texans stood 51% for Stevenson, 43% for Eisenhower and 6% undecided. In Democratic Texas, that is a remarkable showing for a Republican nominee. With both the Republican and Democratic campaigns for Ike just beginning, he appeared to have a better chance of carrying Texas than any other southern state.

But no politician or pundit would call it more than a fighting chance. The only Republican presidential candidate who ever carried Texas was Herbert Hoover, who got 26,000 more votes than Al Smith in 1928, with a strong religious issue on his side. In 1948, despite the Dixiecrat movement, Harry Truman carried 247 of Texas' 254 counties and won the state by more than half a million votes. Even in Texas, where almost everything is done in a big way, it will take a real political tornado to uproot that many Democrats.

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